A Million I Love Yous
by sparkywriter
Summary: What if he finally says it? What if it's not enough? Post 3x11. I'm pretty hacked at Sam right now and this is my "revenge."


Disclaimer – I don't own Rookie Blue. Which is probably a good thing because, right now, I'd be bitch-slapping Sam Swarek just to see the jackass squirm. On the other hand, I'd be telling Collins how ridiculously awesome he was with Andy in last night's episode. Talk about endearing yourself to a fandom where some were on the fence (at best) about you! Favorite line of the night: "God bless the program!" And Luke! OMG! My least favorite homicide detective went a loooonnnggggg way in redeeming himself last night!

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Sam slumped against the steering wheel in his truck, his knuckles white as he gripped the leather like it was his last lifeline to sanity. Andy's last words to him were stuck in an endless loop in his mind…"a million I love you's isn't enough." He deserved those words. Those and every other one that had spilled out of her mouth at his confession.

The day had started like any other for the past two months – Andy striding into parade without making eye contact with him, her anger palpable as she breezed coldly past him. She never initiated contact anymore. It was Collins who called him, if needed. _Collins_, who she'd requested as a permanent partner the day after he'd requested his truck keys back. He had to admit they made a great team, but their pairing only turned the ache in his chest to agony.

It took a bomb going off, literally, for Sam to say the words he could never say to Andy. She and Nick were the first responders to a bomb threat at an office building downtown. Andy, being Andy, wormed her way into the office, just outside the board room where Joseph Wright had barricaded himself in with the company directors who had unceremoniously fired him a week before. And then the bomb went off.

Agony turned to anguish in the first hour – not knowing if she was even still alive. Anguish turned to relief when Collins' radio crackled to life and he heard Andy's pained, thin voice asking if Collins or anyone on the street had been injured in the blast. Relief turned to desperation as two excruciating hour passed while firefighters sifted through the rubble. Desperation turned to anger, finally spilling out of his mouth in an obscenity-laced rant that ended with him punching the "hose monkey" tasked with keeping him away from the building and announcing to the entire precinct that had gathered to wait for Andy's extraction that "the woman I _love_ is in that building". It had been Luke, of all people, who'd pulled him away and forced him to cool off.

Another agonizing half hour passed before he saw the first glimpse of her, leaning against a paramedic, nursing her right arm. He ran toward her but couldn't get anywhere near her as her fellow rookies surrounded her. He waited in the emergency room lounge for word – through the x-rays, the CAT scan, the resetting of her broken arm, the taping of her broken ribs, the assurance that she was resting comfortably and wouldn't be admitted. He wasn't allowed back, despite nearly begging Diaz each time he came out to update the waiting group. He knew better than to ask Claire, who shot her daughter's ex a dirty look each time she came into the waiting room. Chris finally admitted that Andy didn't want to see him; that she wasn't in the mood for one of his "lectures". Despite his assurance that the last thing he wanted to do was lecture her, Diaz shook his head and softly muttered, "I'm sorry, sir."

He found himself knocking on her front door hours later, knowing her mother would be on the other side, but not caring. When Claire opened the door, she immediately went to close it in his face, but Sam stuck his foot in the doorframe. "Please, Claire, I just need a minute," he pleaded.

"It's okay, Mom," Andy offered softly from the couch. Claire begrudgingly conceded and allowed Sam to step into the condo. He shuffled over to where Andy was laying, her eyes slightly glazed from the pain medicine. He mumbled, "may I?" before she nodded and he sat on the coffee table in front of her, nervously wringing his hands.

"I'm fine," she said quietly, refusing to meet his eyes. "I understand what I did wrong and I will try not to let it happen again in the future, sir."

Sam's mouth hung agape. "God, Andy, that's not…" He ran a hand through his hair and took a deep breath, blowing it out slowly. "I didn't come here to yell at you. I came to…"

He hated the trembling in his voice. Hated the way she looked at him warily, genuinely afraid of what he had to say to her. "I came to tell…you…" he stuttered. "What I wanted to say is…"

Andy rolled her eyes and groaned. "God, Sam, just spit it out already. I'm in pain. I'm tired. Please just say what you have to say and leave."

"I love you," he spat out over her rant; then repeated gently, "I love…you, Andy."

He paused a moment to allow her to answer, but no answer came. He raised his eyes to meet hers, finding them wet with unshed tears. She bit at her bottom lip and just as he allowed himself a glimmer of hope that she'd forgive him, that she still loved him, she spoke.

"Okay, um. Yeah," she said quietly, gently shaking her head. "I wasn't expecting _that_. I'm, uh, grateful…I guess…that you could admit that you loved me…"

He shook his head forcefully. "Not _loved_, McNally, _love_. Present tense. I love you. I don't want to be without you anymore."

"Sam…"

"McNally," he argued against the hesitancy in her voice and took her hands in his, "Andy, please, just hear me out…"

She shook her head again, more forcefully this time. "Sam, I'm sorry, but no. You promised me, with _words_, that you wouldn't leave, that we'd work it out, but with your actions, you left. You told me, with _words_, that you didn't blame me for Jerry's death, but every action told me you did. 'I love you'? They're just…_words_. They can't erase two months of _actions_. A million I love you's isn't enough. Not when your actions say the exact opposite."

She pulled her hand from his whispered "Please leave." For the first time in his entire 40 years of life, Sam Swarek understood true devastation. She didn't love him anymore and she wouldn't forgive him. He'd waited too long, not only ignoring, but purposely doing the exact opposite of what Diaz and Luke had advised him to do.

_His_ McNally. The bitterness of the realization that she was no longer his stung at his throat. He rested his head on the steering wheel and cursed himself a million times over.

Fin.


End file.
